Notes from the Underground
by Quod Sumus
Summary: We are all familiar with the struggles of Harry Potter during the Second War Against the Dark Lord. It is time the unsung heroes to be recognized. Here is chronicled the struggle for redemption by one Caspian Skuet, translated from the original Vampirik.
1. Chapter 1

"Can you give me your name, species and gender?" The disembodied voice behind the camera questioned the barely concealed excitement poorly hidden behind a professional tone. "For the record of course…" it added.

The screen flickered as the aged film stubbornly protested on the projector.

The figure in front of the camera looked at the floor with its dreadlocked hair cascading past the camera's range. It suddenly sat up and exhaled a deep breath of green smoke revealing a face partially covered in tattoos and scars, a well proportioned straight nose and thin lips clasped around a rolled up piece of paper which billowed smoke. If it were not for the tattoos and scarring he might have been handsome.

"Caspian Neophrastus Skuet, that's Ess, Kay, You-umlaut, Tee," he added, "I am a Vampire, male. Despite my German name, I was born in Transylvania; the Carpathian Mountains, raised in England, and," he paused for a moment "I am a warrior of the Drakulya Clan." He paused for a moment before adding, "Though…not a very good one."

He gave the camera a forced smile, and took another puff from the rolled paper in his hands. His voice was young but his face gave away nothing of his age, and thus could be anywhere between the age of 19-29.

"Any education?" the voice asked, clearly moving through a list of generic questions.

The man called Caspian smiled, genuinely it seemed "Yes, actually! I am a proud graduate of Hogwarts' school of Witchcraft and Wizardry! I was a Gryffindor…"

"Why are you here?" The faceless camera inquired with a note of discernable interest in the voice, clearly moving to the real reason they were both here. The deteriorated film jumped again on the projector once more.

The vampire warrior thought for a moment "To tell my story… I have more than a few devils to get off my chest, and a few facts that need to be put straight." He paused again. "I have done so much…" the mixture of exhaustion and sorrow in his warm blue eyes seemed to grow more acute, "The Hell I have, I've built myself you know…"

Chapter 1: Lose the Day

There is something about train rides and long trips which elicits deep thoughts, and sparks the imagination; new people, new places, new faces all mesh, and are a motivation behind philosophical revelations and epiphanies.

'_Why am I not better with girls?' _Caspian contemplated. He than remembered, '_Oh. Right… Vampires aren't allowed to reproduce with Humans… It was in that contract you signed when entering England and everything._' This was not so much of an epiphany, as it was a remembrance. A remembrance which left with the overall sense of '_Damn_….'

He broke himself away from this particular stream of consciousness and tossed another armful of clothes into the trunk at the foot of his coffin. The Gryffindor boy's dormitory was empty, the other seventh years out celebrating the completion of their N.E.W.T's and their Hogwarts' career. He wasn't surprised when they "forgot" to invite him.

He could not help but reflect on the number of times in his seven years he had overheard them whispering about how _creepy_ it was that he slept in a coffin. Honestly. They had never tried it, and should not pass judgment. The cushioning from the silky lining, the lack-of-need-for-sheets (the lid kept his body heat in) but most of all, the seclusion. The Darkness was also a necessity.

Human knowledge of Vampire anatomy was woefully, well… speculation and myth. For example, they believe vampires came out only at night, for they would burst into flame in the Sun. This was an over exaggeration; he challenged the Human world to live a life without things like 'blood circulation' or 'skin pigment' and than _not_ receive a painful reminder of the Harm of UV radiation from the sun. Even the Human's spoke of sun_burn_, but he was yet to see any of them bursting into flames. Vampires had known of this handicap for a long time. The invention of 'Krema' several hundred years prior had been major breakthrough in Vampirik culture.

However without his sunglasses, he would be unable to see during the day. This was something for which no cure existed. The Vampire's eyes, which were tuned for hunting at night, had difficulty adapting during the daylight. Even with the strong sunglasses on, it was awkward, though far from impossible, for him to see in the daylight.

He also appreciated the Coffin's sound-proof qualities when his fellow roommates would bring girls back to their room unaware of his presence. He would remain in the coffin until they had finished _whatever_ they were doing and emerge when it was safe. He had chastised himself for being the overly _creepy_. He soon realized however that there could be nothing like the shock of an unexpected guest emerging suddenly from a coffin to kill whatever 'mood' that could be salvaged from a school dormitory. After this revelation, he felt less guilty.

His long brown hair swept over his eyes as he read through a page in the open textbook,

Care of Magical Creatures:

"…vampires are also known for their belligerence and resistance to performing any sort of true magic. They do perform their own indigenous magic's, some of which may be of interest to a student of indigenous or tribal shamanism, but little of practical use. Like most Humanoid creatures, they are capable of imitating wizarding magic, but insist on creating a mixture blend of indigenous and proper magic, which…"

He slammed the book closed and tossed it into his trunk. In the 200 some-odd pages in which the 'vampire' was discussed, there was not one mention of the Tribes or language or… anything in short that had to do with _his_ world.

He was alerted by a knock on the door and a girl's voice calling, "Caspian?" He knew immediately who it was, the only person who ever called upon him with any frequency.

Esmeralda Eve Prewett insisted that people call her Izzy. She was the Head Girl of Gryffindor, first in her year, stunningly beautiful and his best friend. Or rather, she was his friend as 'best friend' suggests that he returned her friendliness equally. Caspian was extraordinarily paranoid of Humans, naturally inclined to silence and frequently gave her a cold shoulder. Despite his apparent lack of interest in her, she had persisted with their friendship since first year. He wasn't sure why. Caspian was aware that he was a jackass and that she deserved better.

Yet she had stood up for him when the other students took his sunglasses and laughed at him as he blindly stumbled around trying to get them back. She had chastised them as hypocrites when they had called him a 'No-Blood' or 'Murderer' or, worst of all 'Vimp'.

They say that if you lock your door, you lock out love. Needless to say that he kept his door locked. On the other side of the door he could hear a muffled voice say "Alohamora." The possibility of someone doing that had never occurred to him, but Izzy was a notoriously clever girl.

The lock clicked open, and she stepped into the room and at a glance, he could see her red hair tied into a long pony tail. Although she was pale, when standing next to the chalk white Caspian, she seemed to radiate light. He kept his back to her as he said, "You know, when people lock their doors, it usually means that they want to be left alone."

In the mirror leaning against his bedpost he could see her smile. He looked away from the mirror. He could hear the springs on the bed squeak as she sat on it. Caspian remained silent. What was it with this school and the overflow of Red haired girls? He remembered her relation to the Weasleys and, again, he answered his own question. He found himself answering his own questions a lot…

"It's a lovely day," she said, used to his coldness.

"I hadn't noticed," he said briefly. This was a lie. The windows were wide open; the sunlight streaming through, and in his heart, there was nothing he wanted to do more than ask her to go for a walk with him. He remained silent.

She seemed devoted to conversation, although she knew that pulling out his fangs would be easier than eliciting conversation from Caspian, "You heard what happened at the tournament? Cedric Diggory…"

Caspian halted packing for a moment, "Yes. Quite sad…" he said simply.

She lowered her voice, "So… do you believe Harry Potter? Do you think that… _he-who-must-not-be-named_ is back?"

Caspian shrugged, "It is eminently feasible. After the first war, after the Dark Lord had been vanquished, the English Ministry of Magic acted upon rumors of his form hiding in Albania, and requested that the Albanian Ministry undergo a search. The Albanian ministry asked for help in the search from the Hungarian-Romanian ministries, who finally, delegated the task to my tribe. My father was one of the hunters. He says that the search ended inconclusively without sufficient evidence to disprove that he was dead or alive…"Caspian trailed off characteristically, returning to his familiar silence.

The silence from Caspian expanded until it seemed to fill the entire room

"Caspian… this is the last day of school. Ever. I… I wanted to tell you that I…" her musical voice breaking the silence, though her tone was timid.

He interrupted her quickly, "Would you braid my hair for me?"

Her face was a mixture of disappointment and amusement. "From any other man that request would sound strange," she remarked, smirking and shaking her head in disbelief. "So… You're really going to do this… Warrior thing?"

Without looking up from his packing, he nodded, "Of course. It is my duty to my tribe. And it is a great honor!" She had never understood his tribal loyalty, and it had been the source of many arguments between them. "Now, will you do my hair?" he demanded.

She smiled weakly and out of the corner of his eye he saw her nod as well, "Ok."

She leaned across the bed and ran her fingers through his hair once, "I still hate you for your hair. Pity you're going to dreadlock it…"

Caspian ignored the goose bumps which ran up his spine whenever she touched him, and threw his defences up immediately, "You mean it's a pity that I, a vampire, should obey the honorable calling of my tribe and people, to serve it as my father and ancestors have before me?" His snapped brusquely, although this was not uncommon from him. Caspian had tried to demonstrate to Izzy how his tribal affiliations really determined his path for him. Esmeralda maintained that Caspian was allowed to make his own decisions in life.

Of the approximate 200 Vampire Tribes which existed on the Planet Earth, every single one of them had a distinctive hair style; the Vampires of the British Isles, Northern France and the majority for example would Mohawk their hair, and die it bright colors. Many of the Balkan tribes would spike their long hair into spikes; his Tribe dreadlocked it. This was all left out in "Care of Magical Creature".

For the first time in a long time, Caspian felt suddenly and deeply ashamed of himself, "I'm sorry Izzy…"

She had been using her wand, to tease his hair into the locks. She shrugged, "It's alright." She said simply. The moments dragged by, silent.

"Would you get me that comb on your dresser Cas?" she asked politely.

Staring straight ahead of himself, careful to not gaze in her direction, Caspian rose from the bed and walked the five paces to his dresser.

"Caspian," she asked, her voice suddenly sincere, "Why have you not kissed me yet?"

Caspian dropped the brush onto the table and sank down, using his arms to prop him up on the table: it was the question he had been dreading, and praying, she would ask for years. He remained silent.

She had known him for long enough to read his silences, as he spoke very little and was always particularly quiet with her. She was his greatest temptation away from the warrior's path he had been preparing himself for since he was a boy. At least that's what he told himself. To be honest, he was terrified of her, of what could happen between them, and he was ashamed of himself for it.

A warrior should be without fear.

She spoke again, "I know you feel the same way Caspian. she said, he voice filling with emotion, "Stop lying about it to yourself…"

Caspian was silent again, his eyes firmly shut, shaking his head slightly and praying that it would all go away.

She spoke again, her voice raised "Caspian look into my eyes and tell me you do not love me!"

He took a deep breath and exhaled, "Why do you think I've never looked you in the eyes…"

She stood up, the joy in her voice burning his cowardly skin, "Then come with me Caspian!"

He pushed himself onto his feet, "I cannot Izzy… I am a warrior…"

Before he could finish his thought she interrupted, "No you're not Caspian! You are a poet, and you write the most beautiful music I have ever heard…" She was exasperated. This was not a new debate between them...

His father had said the same thing to him. Caspian remained silent, unable to turn and look at her, though he knew they were both right.

He sighed, and found the appropriate excuse, "It would never work… my species and yours… the ministry would never allow…"

Izzy looked unconvinced and retorted, "Caspian. My family has connections. Powerful connections…"

Caspian could not make himself turn around. Instead of answering her, he took up his wand and began to run it along his hair.

There was silence between them as he finished his hair. He turned to her and smiled, unable to meet her eyes, "How do I look?"

It was now his turn to bear the brunt of her silence. Although he was unable to look into her eyes, he could feel their daggers.

When she finally spoke, it was with a fury he had never heard in her voice, "I think," her voice began to choke with tears, "I am looking at a coward. A coward who is so in love with the _idea_ of death, that he has ignored life. I think I have been stupid to believe you could love me, when you're more in love with lies." tears began to roll down her cheek.

She stood up from the bed and walked from the room with great elegance, despite her tears. What struck Caspian the most is that when she left, he could hear her whisper "Colloportus." The lock in his door clicked.

In that moment he realized how completely and totally she understood him. Through the closed doors, in the room and within himself, the gravity of his loss was born upon him.

Caspian gazed at the closed door and implored softly, "No… don't go…please…" The room however, remained empty and silent.


	2. Chapter 2: Clear and Simple and Plain

**Chapter 2: Clear and Simple and Plain**

'If this is being read, likely I am not among the living. I leave this journal for posterity mostly. This journal chronicles my own deeds, deeds which I know I will pay for one day. Perhaps through this journal, I can also regain, if I may turn the phrase, some measure of my humanity. Many of the memories that I have, are fading, and they are apart of the picture. I would bequeath them unto a pensieve, but a pensieve would rob you, my reader, of my intimate thoughts. As my thoughts are the entire purpose of me writing this journal to begin with, we can leave the pensieve for later.'

'In the years to come, I would learn just how right Izzy was about me. I will not bore you with the details of the 3 years after I left both Izzy and Hogwarts. I make the reasonable presumption that my reader (or readers) has never attended a Vampiric Military Academy, so I shall edify. The Academy is a little like boot camp, an Auror's training, the Boy Scouts and a lunatic asylum. I ought not to dwell on my three years spent at drills, physical training, being taught survival skills in the wild and vampire magical theory. I was a freak at this school.

My classmates were all from families similar to my own. Some had attended Durmstrang, and some had simply learned magic and honed their natural skills in the wild, under the guidance of an Elder. They looked at me as an outsider, more wizard than vampire. This does not mean I was mistreated, as my classmates and teachers were nothing but patient, helpful and honest with me, while I remained clumsy, and a little confused. I scored outstandingly on magical theory, as well as the theory of tactics and survival. It was in the application of these things that I chafed. My idiosyncrasies were tolerated by my comrades, partially because I am the son of my Father, but mostly because I provided a skill none of them possessed.

Izzy was right about my poetic abilities. Very frequently, my classmates would come to me asking for me to write them letters home to their families or sweethearts. I daresay, to blow my own trumpet, a few of the instructors approached me as well. In any case, I was able to boost my marks with this service. Despite this there was an unspoken consensus that I should not have been at the Academy. Otherwise, I was able to defeat the necessary beasts, accomplish the necessary tasks with sufficient ability.'

"Maybe there is some warrior in you after all, Byron!" my instructors proclaimed to me amid many slaps on the back when I slew a particularly nasty Chimera.

'"Byron" was the nickname they gave me at the academy. It was a reference to the poet, misfit and adventurer 'Lord Byron'. There have been worse nicknames and I have been called worse things, yet somehow beings given the name of a Human-muggle poet by my fellow vampires stung worse than the slurs at Hogwarts. I graduated 15th in my class, which sounds impressive until I admit that there were actually only 15 surviving warriors in my class.

Using the Wizarding Calendar, I was tattooed with the Dragon emblem on the 15th of July, thus marking me as a Warrior and Graduate of the academy. Vampires commemorate just about everything with tattoos.

At my graduation my father was present, and told me that he was proud of me despite my poor grades.

"You have served your duty and your tribe. Your ancestors would be proud of you. That being said son, you should have been a musician." He told me goodheartedly. My father was a very wise man.

My father was convinced that I had little of the warrior in me, and looking back through time, I think he may have been right. I thought him insulting me at the time, but now I realize he was simply a loving father trying to do what was best for his arrogant son.

Because of my poor grades, I was not assigned an Active Duty post. Instead I was told that I was to remain 'prepared'. This essentially meant that they shared my father's conviction. I was expected to serve my clan only when summoned. My family could offer far more effective warriors.

I had fully intended after my training to go on to serve my tribe bravely, and make my father proud of a heroic son. This means that I had no contingency plan. I know now that if one allows himself to be dishonored by a false notion of honor, his dishonor is two fold; but than I felt myself dishonored. I felt disillusioned in myself.

For the first time in three years I found myself with nothing to occupy my time or mind, and I felt myself thinking of Izzy. She had never left my mind during training, but I was able to run from her even than by hiding behind my studies. In hindsight this is probably why my marks were so high on the theory rather than application.

For the first year I had written her a letter every week since we had parted, but I sent none of the letters. I stopped when I realized I had had no such letters from her.

My father gave me sufficient money to return to London, and I took residence in Diagon Alley above 'Madam Malkin's'. The rent was cheap; it scarcely had running water, but I had a place where I could finally pursue music.

I began to play small shows in pubs. There was little money in it, but I felt maybe I would become more successful. Music had been the only thing that had fulfilled me, and disillusioned as I was, I was willing to put some faith in that. It was around this time that I saw Izzy again.'

'Diagon Alley was bustling with life. Evening's frequently turned Diagon Alley into a veritable wizarding Champs-Elysees or Bourbon Street. It was then that the pubs began to do real business as the shops closed, freeing employees to mingle with other young people to social evenings and drinking.

I stood like an island in the throngs of wizards clad in dress robes and other fashionable garments. I remember it clearly: I was wearing tattered blue jeans and a plain black t-shirt which displayed the dragon tattoo emblazoned upon my arm (it was a vain show of pride), and his dreadlocks hanging about my face. I cared for them as my hair grew, and now they dangled past my neck. I had my guitar case, which was worn and shabby looking, but still capable of fulfilling its task.

I began to cross the street. This would be the first well paying gig I had ever acquired. If this went well, I could establish myself as more than just 'the vampire who sings.' Tonight was the Winter Solstice, and the pubs were throwing special events to commemorate the evening, as Diagon Alley had been founded on the Winter Solstice nearly two millennium before.

Although it was winter, the snow had not yet arrived.

The pub was nearly empty, and as I made my appearance the staff was putting finishing touches on decorations and bustling around with final preparations for the busy night.

"Bloody Hell, I thought you weren't coming. Almost gave the job to this Goblin trio Fred and George Weasley suggested to me!" exclaimed Lee Jordan with a smile as I entered his establishment.

"Ah, come off it Lee. You wouldn't draw nearly as much of a crowd without everyone's favorite blood sucker," I parried, setting my guitar down against the bar. "Speaking of which…"

Lee held up his finger, and from under the bar produced a pink glass, brimming with a dark red liquid.

"Cow blood. Kept it warm for you, like you said. Put a shot of fire whiskey in for inspiration."

I took the glass and immediately began to drain it. Lee gave me a look of disgust.

"I don't know how you can drink that…"

"I don't know how you can drink water. It is a foreign notion to me" I replied joyfully polishing off my first helping.

Lee produced a pitcher and poured me a further glass of blood and whiskey.

"Fair enough."

Perhaps if I had substituted the words '_quite_' for 'fair' and '_disgusting_' for 'enough', the ensuing expression would have been more fitting for his tone.

I do not wish to sound as if I am criticizing Lee Jordan; few Humans have would have done me the services he has, and he has done me far many more good deeds than many Vampires. He was simply speaking out of ignorance on a topic greater than himself. But I digress.

"I still don't know how you get yours like that…" he said jealously, referring to my dreadlocks. His own dreads, though while admirable, were smaller and less thick than my own. When it comes to hair growth and maintenance, Humans are vastly inferior to Vampires if I may be allowed this one brief moment of bigotry.

I took a thoughtful drink of my meal, and adopted a sage expression, "Ancient Vampire method; 'Dying when ugly is an ugly death'" I said with a half smirk.

At this moment the door jingled open once more and two familiar voices entered from the street.

"Hello Lee. Two pints of mead for two vieg's" said George Weasley with an air of importance.

"Vieg?" replied Lee.

"Very. Important. Evil. Geniuses" said Fred as he entered behind his brother.

"I bet you are. Right behind You-Know-Who and Grindelwald, scheming to take power from him at every moment. You should write a play about it, I think it would sell very well. I am honored simply to be in your presence," said Lee dryly, "Would you please sign my bosom sir's, so that some insignificant reminder of this happy moment can be forever etched upon my heart?"

"I'd thank you not to mock our brilliance," said George giving a Caspian a clasp on the shoulder, but still keeping the dialogue running with Lee running, "Great thinkers will always find resistance from mediocre minds. Isn't that right Fred?"

"Indeed it is George. Besides, I'd be careful how you speak to us or we're liable to buy these premises and turf you out onto the street" said Fred, accepting the glass of mead Lee presented to him.

The three of them burst out into a fit of laughter.

"Enough of this blathering. How is our dear, and only, vampire friend this evening?" said Fred taking a seat on one side of Caspian, while George accepted a stool on the either side.

I had been silently chuckling along with their dialogue, "I still seem to be stuck in this quagmire of existence."

"Always with the optimism, that's what we love about you Cas" said Fred taking a sip of his mead.

"You're not playing a show here tonight, are you Cas?" asked George noting Caspians guitar case.

"As a matter of fact I am" I replied.

I noted the look they exchanged.

"Why do I have an ominous sensation?" I asked suspiciously.

"Well… We invited our cousin Esmeralda to festivities this evening" said Fred after a moment.

*~*~*~*

I tried to accept this knowledge with nonchalantly, though I think I failed in this, as I choked on my mouthful of blood and may have fainted for several seconds. I don't know, it's a little vague.

Eventually the time came for Fred and George to make their way back to their shop, where young bachelors do whatever it is they do before a night of jubilation. I expected to see them later in their finest attire, with well groomed hair and an entourage of friends. But this is another digression.

The time was approaching for me to make my own preparations. The pub was slowly beginning to fill with laughing and chattering wizards and witches. It was becoming darker outside which reduced the necessity of my sunglasses, but I usually wore them, as the magically created artificial lights were painful to my sensitive eyes.

I have only the vaguest of memories about the passing of time now. I remember a sense of terror and excitement. I believe I tuned my guitar several times, simply to have something to occupy my time and mind. Even if Izzy decided not to take her cousins up on their offer, this was the first time her name had been uttered by anybody. Somehow it made her 'real' again, and I felt ashamed I had not contacted her since school, or even that I had reentered the wizarding world.

I was interrupted from my conscience by Lee, who notified me that it was time for me to begin. The sudden volume of the bar shocked me, or maybe the depth of my musings is what shocked me more as I had clearly missed the entrance of several dozen people, including the band I Lee had arranged to play with me, with whom I had been practicing for several days. Altrouicious Finch was playing drums, Xavier Gau on piano and Maurice Wang had agreed to take position on bass and cello. All of them were talented musicians, but they play little roll in my story unfortunately.

I don't actually remember walking over to the stage, but I do remember sitting there under the bright lights and feeling surprisingly relaxed. If Izzy were to come, she would come. I could not see her from my position, as the room appeared to me only as silhouettes, and dark shapes tossing their heads back in laughter or greeting the arrival of friends. There was no point in worrying now.

I won't bore you with details of that concert, as I am not entirely sure of which songs I played. Several were my own, and some were renditions of human artists. I may not remember the songs exactly, but I do remember playing, and singing, and a great deal of voices joining in with me at times. People seemed to be enjoying themselves. A few people made song requests.

We took our first break gladly; we had earned it and we all deserved a drink before we took the stage again. Lee greeted us at the bar with a comment to hurry up and take the stage again, and cold glasses of water. We dried our faces off with the towels we were provided with and began to catch our breath. I took a seat on the single vacant stool at the bar and stared at the throngs of people; I had not noticed until now how full the bar was. There was scarcely room to stand.

I don't know how I saw her in the solid mass of bodies, but for a second time seemed to slow down. I saw her threw a gap in bodies for a moment which could have been an eternity. Izzy sat there, with a group of laughing people including Fred and George, though her attention was on the man she was kissing.

I remember feeling a dizzy, and the lights spun for a moment. I wanted to run over and tear them apart, or at least make my existence known to her, but I am a coward. What I did was stumble back to the stage. A song had come to me, a muggle one that Izzy and I had both listened to repeatedly on the muggle stations of the WWN. I don't remember the name anymore, but that's irrelevant. It was not a dancing or party song. It was just me, and my voice and my guitar and I probably made a few people cry.

Lee was angry at me later because nobody drank while I played. But that was irrelevant. What was relevant is that Izzy turned and met my eyes. In them I saw dawning recognition and fear which confused me. As I finished the song, it occurred to me that this was the first time she had seen me since…

The rest of the evening is irrelevant. We managed to save Lee's bar sales with a few more upbeat songs, but eventually the pub began to empty. As we stepped off the stage wearily following our final song, Fred and George began gesturing to me.

I pretended not to see them them.

They began gesturing me more wildly. Eventually I could no longer ignore them, as they seemed to be doing an impersonation of Muggles bringing in an aircraft for landing.

With a more than a little trepidation, I walked over to them, trying my hardest not to visibly shake.

A/N: I'm sorry for the very very stereotypical cliffhanger, but this could go on for much longer, and I don't want to lose the few readers I have.

Any comments would be greatly appreciated!


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